


painting the blue in his eyes

by stylinope



Category: One Direction
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylinope/pseuds/stylinope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Artist!Harry and Singer!Louis take a liking to each other</p>
            </blockquote>





	painting the blue in his eyes

Harry laid on his bed- his mattress rather, looking just as disheveled as his flat (which hadn't been cleaned in weeks, he was getting that bad.) 

Why didn't ideas just come to him? Why was it so hard to put paint to canvas and make something of it? Van Gogh made it look easy. Starry Night was nothing but white, yellow, and green on blue, right? Wrong. Maybe he should just cut off his own ear and something would come of this.

Harry rolled over, groaning in the process. It seemed as though everything was mocking him. Inanimate objects were more artistically inclined than him. Then there was that boy next door, who so literally mocked him. The one with the blue eyes and the pleasantly shrill voice. Harry could hear him singing now. How distracting. If he didn't get his paintings done in time for the art gallery he'd simply blame it on the pretty boy next door. Surely they'd forgive him. Harry groaned again, he was pretty much fucked. 

"Having some trouble there, Painter Boy?" Great. Just what he needed. The blue-eyed-boy mocking him.

Harry looked up to see the boy perched on his window sill, looking rather content. Harry cursed whoever built these buildings and connected his roof to the boys' who was _still_  at Harry's window.

"May I come in?" There was really no way out of this, was there? The boy climbed through the window without consent, sitting opposite Harry on his bed. 

"I don't believe we've met properly, Painter Boy? I'm Louis. I saw you working on something out on the roof. You're talented, I'll give you that." He extended his hand, which was considerably small compared to Harry's, but very delicate in a way. In fact, the entirety of Louis seemed to be fragile and delicate and beautiful. Like glass. 

"Louis," Harry said, eyeing him for a second. "I'm Harry. I heard you singing out on the roof the other day. You're talented, I'll give you that." He smirked at his own statement and looked the boy over once more, an idea (whether it was a good one or not, he couldn't quite tell) dawning on him.

"Louis..." He began tentatively "Would you mind if I painted you?" 

Louis smiled. "Is that your way of asking me to get naked? I just came over here to introduce myself." 

"No, you twat. If you hadn't noticed I was in the middle of something before you so _rudely_  interrupted me." Harry gesticulates towards the paintings strewn haphazardly on the floor surrounding them.

"You could repay me by letting me paint you. I've been needing a few extra paintings to put in my gallery. And I didn't know what to paint. Until now." Harry bit his lip, and raised his eyebrows.

"Take your shirt off." He added.

"So this _was_  your way of getting me to take my clothing off. And on the first date, too? Only because I like you, Painter Boy. Though, you screw up my angelic features and I will have you dead." Louis pulled his shirt over his head, and began fixing his hair.

"No. S'fine." Harry mumbled, rummaging through a bin frantically searching for the right brush before his inspiration disintegrated like it loved to do.

"Style me how you must. Though I absolutely will not pose on a velvet couch surrounded by exotic fruits." Louis leaned back against the wall, letting his head loll so it was resting on the window sill looking out towards the sky.

"Stay." He heard Harry say, so he did. 

He listened to whatever music Harry put on since it helped him "concentrate." Louis was perfectly content with listening to the Top 40, but he didn't mind when Harry put on his vinyl records. Or when he sang and changed the lyrics to _"Come on Louis"_ rather than _"Come on Eileen"_. 

Louis didn't mind this at all. He introduced himself to Harry, as promised, being painted all the while.

"I'm 24. Music major. Do you know how hard it is to make it in the music business? Very. I'm from Doncaster. I left my lovely mum and sisters to come to London and pursue my singing career, which has absolutely _not_ taken off yet." And Harry told Louis how he was 22, and he knew what he meant. 

_"It's tough to make it in the real world, isn't it? I just hope we do."_

And they laughed and Harry painted Louis and Louis decided he liked Harry. 

However many useless stories and complaints about being just another proletariat later, Harry decided he was content with his painting.

"So Zayn is like smoking in the fucking flat, right? That dolt. The next thing I know the living room curtains are on fire and-" 

"Louis." Harry cuts him off in the midst of his story, and the blue eyed boy stops for a moment and looks at Harry.

"You know," he says, pointing an accusing finger at Harry. "I hate being interrupted. Well, actually, you didn't know, so that wasn't very fair. But you're cute so, I guess I'll let you-"

"Shut up, tosser. I'm finished." 

Louis lifts his head off the window sill, mewling a small 'ow' because how long could a person stay in a position like that? He crawls over to where the other boy has positioned himself at the foot of the bed- mattress. 

He can't really help but gasp at the canvas in front of him and stutter something incoherent, because not even Picasso could impress him like Harry does.

What he saw was himself, but beautiful and silent and stilled. Louis decided he was jealous of the person in the painting, though it was himself.

He turned to where Harry sat, looking meek. Louis wished he could paint him and capture him looking stilled and silent and beautiful. 

"Amazing." He whispered, sitting down across from Harry. "You're amazing, that's amazing, I-" 

"I'm glad you don't hate it, blue eyed boy." Harry said as if it were a natural thing to say. 

"What? Are we at the nickname stage already?"

"Shut the fuck up, you're the one calling me 'Painter Boy' as if that's a normal thing to call someone." Harry retorts, and Louis turns a light shade of scarlet.

"I didn't know your name until today, and I always thought of you as the boy with the blue eyes." He continues. "Blue eyed boy." 

Louis gives him a sort of strange look and asks, "Is that why you decided to paint me?" 

Harry just laughs. "You're very cute but very vain. And yes, partly. You're sort of too artistic not to paint."

Then Louis asks Harry something along the lines of: "So I didn't have to take my shirt off? You just wanted to see my rock hard abs then wank to the painting later." And they both laugh.

Harry decides he likes Louis. 

Eventually Harry drags Louis (along with a bottle of Merlot) out onto the roof, and they sit there talking about their past and their futures. Harry tells Louis how he will never paint a sunset for as long as he lives, because they're overrated. Louis tells Harry how he thinks he's ridiculous and that sunsets are beautiful and that artists are overrated. Harry could say the same about singers who aren't even sure what genre they prefer. 

"I had fun today, Painter Boy. Hey, maybe one day I'll sing to you." He said, picking up his glass of Merlot and hugging Harry who hadn't even had a chance to stand up. Then just as fast as he came, he was gone, retreating to the warmth and safety of his own flat. 

Harry went home that night and painted a sunset, adding a little extra blue to his palette.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's not the best but I hope you enjoyed it. :)  
> Thanks to anyone who helped me make it at least a little bit better.


End file.
